


Knife in the Dark

by horrorsilk



Series: Kinktober 2019 [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Hand Jobs, Kinktober 2019, Knifeplay, M/M, Marking, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 23:55:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20882759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horrorsilk/pseuds/horrorsilk
Summary: Anyone who knows Lucien knows how fond he is of his blade. Perhaps no one better than his Silencer.-----For Kinktober 2019 prompt: Knife play





	Knife in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Another one that's short and sweet. 
> 
> See you tomorrow ;3c

The groan of the trapdoor hinges heralded the Silencer's return. In the belly of Fort Farragut, Lucien sat at his desk, not even looking up from his mortar and pestle at the thud of boots as the man reached the bottom of the ladder. Instead he continued his work, grinding the mixture of nightshade petals and milk thistle seeds. The Silencer remained quiet, clearly waiting to be addressed. Lucien smirked; he was just as stubborn as ever, it seemed.

"Greetings, my Silencer," he purred, continuing his grinding for a moment before, at last satisfied with the consistency of the concoction, he finally stood, turning to face the Breton with his usual lazy, dangerous smile. "I was not expecting you to return so soon." Dark eyes slid over the man's figure. He wore a heavy black cloak which appeared to be drenched, droplets sliding off the surface and gathering into a puddle at his feet. "Ah, you were caught in the rain, then? Come, hang up your cloak and sit by the fire. I can't have you catching your death of cold. Do you realize how much _work _that would leave me?"

"As always your concern is heartwarming, Speaker," the man mumbled, lowering his hood and tossing his soaked bangs out of his face. Lucien just grinned so wide it looked painful.

"Sit," he repeated, sweeping the rain-soaked cloak off of the Breton's shoulders. There was no argument, and the Silencer sat cross-legged on the stone floor before the hearth. It wasn't long before steam began to rise up from his damp clothes. Lucien hung the cloak up to dry before returning to his desk, putting away his tools before joining his fellow assassin in front of the fire.

They sat in companionable silence for several minutes before Lucien spoke again.

"And what business brings you to this part of Cyrodiil, Hadridor? I did not think you would be returning for some time."

The Breton shrugged, rotating on the floor to allow his back to dry out. "I meant to be going south to the Imperial City, but the rain picked up and Shadowmere brought me here. Don't really know why, but she tore off in this direction and didn't stop until we reached the stables outside Cheydinhal. I hope you don't mind the unexpected visit, my Speaker."

Lucien may not have been wearing his usual robes, but even with his face half-shrouded in shadow there was no hiding the gleam in his dark eyes. "Of course I do not mind. Fort Farragut is just as much a home to you as it is to me." He gestured around the room. Truly it wasn't much; the furniture was sparse, only a few tapestries adorned the stone walls. But it had never made sense to decorate, especially since he wasn't here very often. 

Hadridor just gave him a warm smile before falling silent again, resting his forehead against his knees. Lucien watched him with an almost fond expression for a while, but eventually pulled out a whetstone and his beloved ebony dagger. The blade was sharp enough to cut through even plate armour, but the Speaker still dragged the edge along the stone to sharpen it. The crackling fire, the scrape of metal on stone, and the eventual snoring of Hadridor joined in a pleasant enough melody. 

Still, Lucien scowled; if he allowed Hadridor to sleep on the floor, it wouldn't do his back any favours come morning. Cursing silently, the Speaker slipped his dagger into the sheath at his hip before stooping down, giving the Breton a hard jab in the shoulder. 

No response. 

He cursed again, audibly this time, and slung Hadridor's arm over his shoulders, hoisting him up and half-leading but mostly dragging him over to the bed, depositing him unceremoniously atop it. The Breton collapsed, boneless against the bedclothes, letting out a long, sleepy groan before curling in on himself. Lucien rolled his eyes, tugging the man's boots off his feet and unstrapping the daggers slung around his waist. 

He looked comfortable enough.

Lucien strode soundlessly back to his seat by the fire, settling down and resuming his earlier task, sharpening his dagger for an indeterminable amount of time before he flinched at the sound of footsteps behind him. The fire had died down to a pile of smoldering embers, the only light in the room their dull crimson glow. 

Hadridor stood to his left and his voice, though hardly more than a whisper, sounded like a scream as it shattered the silence. "Lucien? I'm sorry if I startled you. I just uh, woke up and didn't know where you were."

"I never moved," Lucien grumbled, setting aside the whetstone and examining his blade closely, appraising its edge. He pulled himself from his seat to tend the fire, tossing on a few more logs and coaxing the flames back to life. He turned to face Hadridor, whose face was bathed in the flickering light, accentuating his angled jaw and deep eyes. Lucien hooked a finger under his chin and stepped a bit closer. "Always fretting over me," he crooned. "Just what am I to do with you?"

The Breton's breath hitched, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "You know I am yours to do with as you please, Speaker," he breathed.

Lucien arched a brow; Hadridor always knew just what to say. "Oh, is that so? Well, then, my Silencer, come and join me." He settled himself in his chair once again, gesturing for the man to sit on his knee, which he gladly did. "Good boy." Hadridor settled in, legs draped over Lucien's lap and his hands braced against his chest. Lucien reached out, twirling a strand of his silvery hair around a slender finger, giving a slight tug before releasing it. "So pliant, like clay in my hands."

Hadridor smirked at that. "And what if I decide _not _to be so pliant?" he asked, fluttering his lashes in mock innocence.

"If that were the case, I would have to remind you where you belong."

"Which is?"

"Beneath me, hands pinned above your head, writhing as I carve my name into your flesh with my teeth and begging to be allowed to finish." Lucien sounded almost disinterested as he flicked his thumb over the blade of his dagger. Hadridor shivered in his lap.

"That doesn't sound so bad," he mumbled.

"No? Maybe I'm losing my touch." Lucien's nose wrinkled. "After all, what fun is there without a little threat of bodily harm?"

"I didn't mean that you weren't -" But Hadridor never finished, silenced by the flat of Lucien's dagger pressed against his lips. 

"Shh now, my Silencer," the Speaker purred. "I would hate to ruin these pretty lips of yours."

Hadridor's eyes were wide enough that Lucien could see his reflection in them. The Speaker flicked the blade down, the tip of it coming to rest at the collar of his shirt. Waiting only long enough to watch the look of dawning realization spread across Hadridor's face, Lucien brought it down, slicing open the fabric in one fluid motion. The Breton didn't have a chance to protest as the dagger slapped across his mouth again. 

"You will _not _speak unless I allow it." Lucien dragged the flat of the blade down, the cool metal an odd sort of kiss in and of itself before it was just as quickly replaced by Lucien's own mouth, searing hot compared to what they had taken the place of. Lucien took one of his thighs and pushed so that Hadridor now straddled him in the chair, hands still spread over the Speaker's chest. "There now, are you going to be a good boy, or am I going to have to punish you?"

Hadridor shook his head. "I'll be good," he whispered. Lucien gave a please hum before leaning forward and pressing a slow kiss to his lips again.

"Excellent. Now, get up, take off the rest of your clothes and wait for me on the bed."

The Breton nearly toppled off of his lap in his rush to obey. Lucien had barely risen from the chair by the time he was stretched out over the bedclothes, naked as the day he was born. Fingers dancing over the surface of his dagger, the metal glinting hungrily in the firelight, Lucien strode over, swinging his own legs up onto the mattress, kneeling between Hadridor's legs and staring down at him with an almost predatory gaze. 

"Look at you, already so _ready _for me. Aren't you?" He chuckled deep in his throat, stretching himself beside the man, dancing his fingertips along Hadridor's abdomen, grazing them dangerously close to his manhood but never quite touching it. 

Knowing that speaking would only drag the torture on, Hadridor just whimpered pathetically, shivering at the way Lucien laughed cruelly in response. 

"Ah, you poor thing. Do you want me to touch you? You can answer."

"Yes, please. _Please, _Lucien...!" 

The Speaker hummed; a sound that vibrated through his touch as he skimmed his fingers down, wrapping them expertly around Hadridor's shaft. The contact made him almost sob in relief, hips instantly canting up to meet his grip. Lucien continued to stroke him for a while before there was the familiar kiss of cold metal tracing up the curve of his ribs. Hadridor's eyes flew open and he glanced down to catch the flash of Lucien's knife as the tip brushed against his skin. 

"You're lucky I missed you so much," Lucien growled, picking up the pace, which earned him an enthusiastic whimper from the Breton. "I just want to hear your sweet voice, watch you fall apart at my touch."

Hadridor let out a sharp breath; it was getting harder to stay quiet now. Lucien's hand, slightly calloused and so very warm, contrasted with the icy metal edge of his blade, which was now tracing the lines of his sternum. 

"Go on, then..._speak." _Lucien's voice was a hiss, breath dancing along his face.

The dam burst, Hadridor crying out his name amidst a stream of curses and pleas until he was certain his voice would give out. Lucien's pace was unrelenting, squeezing and sliding, voice a low rumble as he muttered words of encouragement in his ear. It wouldn't be much longer before he shattered, but somehow he managed to keep himself from doing so, obedient as always as he waited for permission.

Sensing the tension rapidly building in his lover, Lucien took the shell of his ear in his teeth, tugging gently. "Come for me, my Silencer. Break for me."

Hadridor let out a strangled sort of howl, back arching as he came, painting his stomach with his release. Flopping back, sweaty and weak, the Breton nuzzled up against the Speaker with a contented purr. Lucien pulled him closer, kissing his temple.

"I am glad you're back. Now rest, my poison. You will need your strength for later."


End file.
